


Carrying

by primaveracerezos



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Accidental Pregnancy, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Idiots in Love, M/M, Magically Powerful Harry Potter, Mpreg, Pregnant Draco Malfoy, Wandless Magic, weird pureblood magic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-19
Updated: 2019-01-23
Packaged: 2019-10-12 13:32:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17468522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/primaveracerezos/pseuds/primaveracerezos
Summary: Draco’s stupid pureblood ancestors enabled male pregnancy in heirs to prevent the bloodline dying out. After a one night stand four months ago, it turns out Draco’s pregnant.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So I’ve never written or posted anything of this sort, ever, but this idea popped in my head this morning and I decided to write it down. Enjoy!

“Potter, listen to me. I’m pregnant.”

Harry froze. “You’re taking the piss.”

Malfoy clenched his teeth. “I’m not. It’s true.”

“What are you on about? That’s—” _Impossible_ , he wanted to say, but suddenly he was bombarded with a memory of Hermione, just after he came out.

She’d cornered him, pamphlets clutched in her hands, and tried to talk to him about _protection_ and _precautions_. “Harry, you need to know these things, it’s different with wizards—”

Harry, picturing magical STIs, waved her off. “I’m not stupid, ‘Mione. I know about all that.” Of course, he’d been thinking about how Ron had taken to exclaiming _Merlin’s cock bumps!_ every time something surprised him, and how perhaps Merlin’s bumps were actually something more contagious than he’d first imagined.

Now, with Malfoy trapping him in the Ministry tea room, he realized what Hermione meant to say. He felt suddenly nauseous. He looked at Draco, noticed that he did actually look a little...softer than usual. His jawline had smoothed out some, and his hair was loose and looked thicker than it had been when Harry’d run his fingers through it—

“What are you staring at?” Malfoy’s biting tone pulled Harry out of his memory.

Harry sat in one of the awful plastic chairs and motioned for Malfoy to do the same. He cleared his throat, trying to pretend for a moment that he was a functional human. They could talk about this like adults.

Malfoy, eyeing Harry warily, sat.

Harry took a deep breath. “I— I didn’t know that could happen.”

Malfoy let out a bitter laugh. “Of course you didn’t. God, you might as well be a muggle.”

Harry frowned. “How have I never heard of this? Surely if men can—" He eyed Draco’s belly, trying not to look for roundness. “I’ve never seen anything about pregnant wizards.”

“Not the most observant even on your best days, are you, though?” Draco didn’t meet Harry’s eyes. He sighed. “But I suppose it is, ah, somewhat rare.”

“What, the pregnancies, or the—ability?” Harry may have missed muggle anatomy class, but he did understand the basics, and felt somewhat confident that men— _cisgender_ men, his inner Hermione corrected him—cisgender men don’t have the bits needed to carry a baby.

“Both,” Draco answered. “It’s an old pureblood solution to homosexuality. Can’t let the line die off just because the heir prefers cock.”

Harry nodded.  “Okay, that makes sense, in a way.” _A stupid, pureblood way_ , he didn’t add.

Malfoy seemed to hear the end anyway and scowled. “Potter, just because you’re—”

Harry held his hand up. “Spare me.” A thought occurred to him, and spouted out of his mouth before he could stop it. “How do I know it’s mine?”

Draco hexed Harry before he even realized Malfoy had his wand out, which Harry admitted he deserved. “What do you think I am, Potter? You think I just let anyone have a go, unprotected at that?”

Still reeling from the invisible hand’s harsh slap, Harry shook his head. “No, I don’t think that. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Too right. God, you’re such a twat. Don’t know why I even— Anyway, it can only happen if the—" Draco pressed his lips together, splotches of red high on his cheeks.

Harry studied him for a moment. “If what?”

Malfoy darted his eyes to Harry, then to a wage law poster on the wall. “If the, er, moon is waxing. Look, I’ve got to go, I have an,” Malfoy formed his face into a cringe, “an _appointment_.”

Harry sucked in a breath. “What? You’ve already decided to do it?” He tried to remember Hermione’s articles about partner support, about post-procedure depression, but a panic had gripped him. “Do you want me to come? Won’t you need help getting home?”

Draco found Harry’s eyes again, looking confused. “I’ll be fine getting home, it’s just the scan and a bit of blood checking.”

Harry mirrored Draco’s confusion, feeling as though he was missing something. “Do they not do it the same day? Make you come back or something? Sorry, I’ve never been to a, you know. A clinic.”

“Potter, you’ve gone mad. I’m only, like, sixteen weeks gone. I’m no expert, but I’m pretty sure it wouldn’t survive if it came out today.” Malfoy’s lips twitched into a ghost of a smile. “And I’m relatively certain you’ve been to more clinics than the rest of the Auror department combined.”

Harry’s eyes widened as understanding dawned on him. God, he really _was_ a twat. Malfoy wasn’t going to an abortion clinic, he was visiting the fucking obstetrician, like pregnant people _do_. He let out a laugh and pretend it didn't sound as hysteric as it did.

Malfoy looked at him as if he really had lost his marbles. “You can come, if you must. It isn’t all that pleasant, but sometimes they have apple juice, if you ask.”

Harry was already pulling his jacket from the coat hook. He smiled, just a little, at the reminder of Draco’s fondness for sweet things. “Let me just send a note to Robards.”

Malfoy gave a curt nod and unwarded the door as Harry sent a little paper airplane zooming off. Draco was fidgeting with the zipper on his coat absentmindedly. Harry could tell Draco was nervous. It hit him that Draco must have been carrying this around for weeks, and Harry wondered if anyone else knew yet. Somehow, he didn’t think so.

“Draco,” Harry said gently, placing his hand on Draco’s arm. Gray eyes met his, carefully guarded, but Harry saw through the walls. He always had. “Thank you for telling me.”

For a moment, Draco looked like he might say something. He stared at Harry, something flickering across his expression, something like fear or maybe desperation. But then his features smoothed and he nodded again, turning away to leave.

Harry took a moment to press his hands to his face. He allowed himself five seconds of internally screaming _what the fuck what the fuck what the fuck_ , then took a deep breath and followed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Four months earlier, Harry and Draco met at a pub night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating adjusted to fit the contents of this chapter. 
> 
> Thank you to @FoundARainbow03 (on discord) for the beta and wonderful suggestions!

_ Four months earlier _

\- - - - -

Harry hadn’t expected to see Draco Malfoy at pub night, but it wasn’t a surprise. Ever since Neville had started dating Blaise Zabini it had really just been a matter of time until Malfoy showed up. A warning would have been nice, and by the look on Ron’s face, he hadn’t been expecting a reunion either. They both grabbed seats around their usual table and Ron waved to a server to order their beers, then turned to Ginny and started talking Quidditch. They spoke of little else, and Harry chose to tune them out.

Malfoy was smiling as he watched Neville tell some dramatic plant-related tale. His long fingers were curled around a nearly-empty pint glass. He glanced at Harry, nodded once in acknowledgment, then went back to taking in Neville’s wild gestures. He was wearing a gray cardigan over a red t-shirt, the sleeves pushed up to reveal a number of beaded bracelets on his wrists. On the whole, Harry thought, this version of Malfoy was completely unexpected, but not bad at all.

More pints arrived to their table just as Hermione came through the entrance, cheeks flushed from the chilly October night. She took the chair next to Harry and kissed his cheek. “How was your day?”

“Pretty good, actually. I had that assessment thing with the therapist and it was easier than I thought. I think I’ll be allowed back in the field next week.” After a particularly close call had resulted in a two-week stay in St. Mungo’s, Harry had been “relieved” of active duty for the time being. It had been more than a month since he’d had a day away from his desk, and he was itching to get back out with his team. 

“Yes, well, after you nearly killed yourself last time, I’m glad they’re proceeding with caution,” Hermione replied, tone clipped. They’d had this argument before, but Harry wasn’t feeling up to it again. Not on pub night.

He gestured at Malfoy, seated across and down the table from them. “Been a while since I’ve seen him around. He looks a bit more relaxed than he used to.” 

Hermione considered Malfoy, her eyes traveling from platinum hair to the many bracelets. “Relaxed? Fit, I think you mean.”

Harry nearly choked on his mouthful of lager. He wiped his mouth on a napkin. “Jesus, Hermione. I thought you were gay?”

She shrugged, smiling. “Yeah, but I’ve got  _ eyes _ . Look at those collarbones.”

“God, you’re ridiculous.” Harry felt himself blush and hid his face in a menu, trying to resist another peek down the table. “I think I’m getting some chips.”

“You always get chips,” Ron chimed in. “Why are you even looking at the menu? Hi, ‘Mione,” he added, reaching around Harry to pat Hermione’s shoulder. It’d been almost a decade since they’d split up, shocking practically the entire wizarding world, but Harry had to admit he liked them better apart. These days, Ron spent his time running the Wheezes franchise with George and had taken to helping Molly with her mail-away bakery business as well. Hermione was working her way up the Wizengamot and writing children’s books under a pseudonym. They had both settled into themselves, and were both happy, as far as Harry could tell. 

He looked over as a burst of laughter came from those engaged in Neville’s antics. Blaise was smiling proudly at Neville, arm slung easily over Neville’s broad shoulders. Next to Blaise, Malfoy took a sip of his beer, and Harry couldn’t help but notice a bit of foam on his upper lip. He wondered, idly, if Malfoy often drank beer. It didn’t quite fit with Harry’s image of him, but then, neither did braided bracelets or muggle clothes. Perhaps he didn’t know as much about Malfoy as he thought.

At that moment he realized he’d been staring at Malfoy’s mouth for far too long and raised his gaze to Malfoy’s eyes, which turned out to be a mistake. Malfoy was looking right back at him, a curious expression on his face. Harry felt as though he were being appraised and felt suddenly inadequate; it occurred to him he hadn’t bothered to shave that morning and he was wearing an old Gryffindor Quidditch t-shirt he’d had stuffed in his work locker. He looked away, trying to force his ears to listen to what Ginny was saying about the Harpies’ new group of recruits. Of course Malfoy would manage to rattle him, even at pub night.

\- - - - -

Neville and Blaise were the first to leave, Blaise looking like Christmas had come early when Neville suggested they head back to his. Harry tried not to roll his eyes too openly. 

By that point, Ron had managed to down six pints and was working on his seventh. Ginny helped her brother up, suggesting none-too-kindly that their mother might kill him if he couldn’t get up in the morning to box up a big pumpkin-themed order. Ron looked at first like he might argue, but seemed to remember he was properly afraid of Molly, and gave into to Ginny’s offer to Side-Along him to the Burrow.

Hermione, who laughed at Ron’s awkward stumbling toward the door, checked her watch and tutted. “Shit, I was supposed to submit some policy revisions by midnight. Well, maybe if I send them over now it’ll be okay, it’s only half after.” She gathered her coat, not looking up from her mobile as she kissed Harry goodbye. “You’ll be okay getting home, yeah?”

Which left Harry, who had never actually got those chips he ordered, sitting alone with Malfoy. Malfoy who had only had, by Harry’s count, two beers, but looked as though he could pass out where he sat. 

Was there one decision Harry made in his life that had led him to being responsible for Draco Malfoy getting home after a pub night? Or had it been a series of events? Either way, Harry found himself questioning the loyalty of his Gryffindor friends for leaving him.

“Right, well,” he said, “I’m hungry and I think you should probably walk around a bit. There’s a chippy two blocks from here. Want to go?”

Malfoy smiled at him, then, and Harry thought this might not be a terrible idea.

\- - - - -

A man was wiping down the tables as they walked in. “We’re closing in a bit, lads, but I’ll make you something to take away if you like.”

Harry silently cursed the chippy man but then felt bad and silently apologized. “That’d be great. I’ll have a cod and chips.” He looked at Malfoy. “What do you want?”

“Have you got any vegetarian pasties left?” Malfoy asked the chippy man, who nodded. “One of those, then, thanks.”

Harry, who was stuck between wondering how Malfoy knew there were pasties when they weren’t on the menu board and if Malfoy was a vegetarian, moved to the till to pay. He handed over some notes to the chippy man, who then disappeared to the back and reappeared with two boxes for them. 

“My flat is just a few blocks from here,” Malfoy said as they left. “We can eat there if you like.”

Harry considered for a moment, then nodded, cradling the warm paper box as he walked.

\- - - - -

Malfoy’s flat was warm, was Harry’s first impression. It was only October, but the temperature had dipped into the single digits, and Harry’s well-worn cotton jacket wasn’t cutting it. The brisk walk had made him reconsider how drunk Malfoy actually was, though; he seemed perfectly fine now, if perhaps a bit sleepy. 

Harry’s second impression was that it smelled  _ amazing _ . Like citrus and vanilla and something woodsy. He took a deep breath, hoping it looked like he was trying to warm up rather than inhale the entire contents of the place.

Malfoy hung his keys on a hook and toed his boots off next to a mountain of other shoes before rounding a corner down the hallway. Harry followed, unsure of what else to do. He ended up in the kitchen, where Malfoy was filling a glass with water. 

“Do you want something to drink?” Malfoy asked him, gesturing with the glass he held. “Cups are in that cupboard there. No beer, I’m afraid, but plenty of water in the tap.” He left Harry standing there, still clutching his chip box. Harry shrugged and opened the cupboard, which was full of mismatched glasses, plates, and bowls. Harry chose a glass at random and filled it up from the tap.

He glanced around, looking for a pantry cupboard, but felt odd poking around in Malfoy’s kitchen. “Have you got any vinegar?” he asked, hoping Malfoy was still close enough to hear him.

“Cupboard next to the sink,” came the reply. Harry found the bottle and dumped some over his now-lukewarm chips.

Malfoy was sitting on a plush-looking sofa, eating his pasty with one hand and scrolling his mobile with the other. For some reason, Harry was struck by how  _ regular _ it all looked. Just a man having a snack and checking his messages, comfortable at home. Harry hadn’t thought much about Malfoy in the years since he’d seen him, but what he had pictured was very similar to the boy he’d known: posh, stuck up, a proper pureblood. Not this relaxed, slightly tipsy man in an overlarge jumper and sock feet. 

“I think you’ve got a bit of a staring problem,” Malfoy said, breaking Harry from his thoughts.

Harry laughed. “Sorry. It’s just been a long time since I’ve seen you, and you’re so…” Harry gestured vaguely, taking a seat on the other end of the sofa. 

“So what?” Malfoy asked, a smile widening over his lips. “So fit?”

Hermione’s comments echoed in Harry’s brain and Harry couldn’t help but chuckle. “You’re just so normal, you know, getting a pasty at the chippy and drinking tap water. Not what I pictured.”

Malfoy put the remains of his pasty down on the side table. “Of course I’m normal, you twat.” He placed his feet up on the couch, over Harry’s lap. “Have you been picturing me a lot, then?”

“Hmm, some.” Harry bit into a chip. “Mostly wondering if you’d ever stopped being such an insufferable git. I suppose not.”

For that, Malfoy kicked him. It was a light kick, but still, Harry’s Auror training took over and he grabbed Malfoy’s ankle and yanked the other man toward him. Malfoy took hold of Harry’s arm, attempting to break free, but Harry shook him off and Malfoy, along with the box of fish, went crashing to the floor. 

Harry mourned his dinner for a moment before Malfoy reached up, grabbed a fistful of Harry’s jacket, and pulled him bodily to the floor. Expecting a punch to the face, Harry flinched, but nothing came. He opened his eyes and saw Malfoy propped up on his elbow next to him. On his face--not so pointy as it used to be, Harry noticed--was an expression between curiosity and something very Slytherin.

Harry, unsure of what exactly was happening, gazed steadily back. “What?” he asked in a whisper.

Malfoy smirked. “You’re rather fit these days, Potter. Don’t know if you noticed.”

Harry’s eyebrows shot up. “Have you?”

Instead of responding, Malfoy pressed his lips to Harry’s. Harry’s throat made a sound that his brain had not sanctioned and his arms found their way around Malfoy, pulling until Malfoy was straddling him. Malfoy’s long fingers wound themselves into Harry’s topknot and the kiss deepened. 

Another moan, this one from Malfoy, sent an electric shock straight to Harry’s cock. He grasped Malfoy’s thighs, grinding their hips together. Malfoy broke the kiss, biting his lip, breathing heavily, and Harry took the opportunity to flip them over. 

Malfoy smiled, this time a genuine one, and pulled on the hem of Harry’s shirt. “You should take this off.”

“So eager to get me naked, Malfoy?” Harry replied, but pulled off his jacket and shirt anyway, chucking it somewhere to the side. Malfoy’s eyes dilated and worked their way from Harry’s shoulders to the waistband of his jeans. His lips, bright red now, parted just a little. It was Harry’s turn to smirk. “No snarky comment?”

Malfoy caught Harry’s gaze. “I had something lined up about doing this without Gryffindor involved, but I can’t remember exactly what I was going to say.” His hands roamed Harry’s back, grazing his fingernails lightly against Harry’s golden brown skin. Harry gasped and pushed Malfoy’s cardigan off one sleeve at a time, then pulled the collar of his t-shirt over a pale shoulder. He ducked to press a soft kiss to Malfoy’s slender collarbone, which earned him a quiet moan. Experimentally, Harry nipped the base of Malfoy’s throat, followed quickly by a lap of his tongue, and was pleased to hear Malfoy groan. 

“Take off your shirt, Malfoy,” Harry said softly.

Malfoy huffed. “You’re on top of me.”

“Do you want me to move?” Harry asked, canting his hips forward. His cock, now fully hard, ached against his trousers. The pressure of Malfoy’s arse felt exquisite.

Malfoy moaned, his eyes fluttering closed. 

Harry, feeling quite proud of himself through the fog of lust now occupying his brain, pressed forward again, this time grabbing hold of Malfoy’s hip. Malfoy’s hand drifted to cup Harry’s arse over his jeans. 

“Is that good?” Harry murmured.

“Could be better,” Malfoy said. “Come on, let’s take this somewhere more comfortable.” He sat up and manoeuvred himself from under Harry, turning and walking out of the room. Harry followed, trying not to think too much about what he was agreeing to--or rather, with whom he was agreeing.

Malfoy led him to a small bedroom, simply decorated in white and gray. A window overlooked the street outside and yellow light shone on a packed bookshelf against one wall. Two matching paintings hung next to the bedroom door, abstract dabs of paint Harry couldn’t quite decipher. Taking up most of the floorspace was an enormous bed, unmade and covered in pillows and blankets. On said bed was Malfoy, propped on his elbows and shirtless, watching Harry speculatively.

“Your bed is huge,” Harry said, feeling unsure of himself now.

“Yes, it is,” Malfoy agreed. “Why are you still in the doorway? Come here.”

Harry did as he was told. Malfoy moved to sit on the edge of the mattress and Harry came to stand between his legs. Malfoy grinned appreciatively as he ran both hands up Harry’s thighs and around the back of the waistband, tugging. Harry obliged, unbuttoning his jeans and nudging them down. 

“Pants too,” Malfoy said, hooking his fingers in the elastic and pulling slowly, watching in seeming fascination as Harry’s cock bobbed into view, leaking precome. He bit his lip. “I want to put my mouth on you.”

Harry groaned. “God, Malfoy, yeah.”

Malfoy wrapped his hand around the base of Harry’s rosy prick, his fingers barely touching his thumb. “Call me Draco.” Delicately, he lapped up the bead of precome, then licked a stripe up the vein. Harry had to close his eyes as Draco took him in his mouth, tongue running over the sensitive slit and swirling around the head. Gingerly, not wanting to push his luck, Harry ran his fingers through Malfoy’s hair. Malfoy moaned around his cock, nodding, so Harry grasped the longer strands on top. 

He was barely aware of the sounds he was making, breathy, soft moans and hisses. He opened his eyes again and nearly came when he saw Draco was looking up at him, his pupils wide. “Christ, Draco…” Harry tightened his hold on Draco’s hair, his focus now entirely on preventing his hips from shoving his cock down Draco’s throat. In an effort to distract himself, he ran his fingers over the angry red circle he’d left on Draco’s throat. Draco moaned again, punctuated by a whimper as Harry enclosed his hand gently around Draco’s pale neck, just under his sharp jawline. 

Draco backed off from Harry’s cock. Harry pulled his hands away, worried he’d gone too far, but Draco didn’t look upset. He looked lust-drunk. His lips were shiny with spit and swollen and bright red. He was breathing heavily, not smiling, but his eyes were bright with want. Harry couldn’t resist leaning over him and covering those red lips with his own, tasting himself in Draco’s mouth. 

Draco pulled Harry’s hand back to his neck. “I like that,” he whispered, and the words alone felt like a small bomb going off in Harry’s brain. He left his fingers around Draco’s throat but used his other arm to force the other man backward onto the bed, pushing Draco’s slender frame down. He tightened his grasp, just slightly, above Draco’s adam’s apple, and Draco bit his lip and moaned, deep and long, and Harry felt drunk on the sound. 

He found Draco’s trousers and spent a frustrating couple of second attempting to unbutton them before growling. The trousers and pants both disappeared and he smiled, pressing his hips against Draco’s and treasuring the feeling of their cocks together, sliding--

“Mm,  _ yes _ \--hang on, did you just  _ wandlessly vanish _ my jeans?” Draco said, his voice somewhere between a moan and a laugh.

Harry, now wrapping a hand around their pricks, smiled. “I’ll bring them back.” 

Draco moaned again and pulled Harry’s lips to his. “That feels so good,” he murmured, thrusting his cock against Harry’s. “Don’t come, though. Want you to fuck me.”

Harry let his head fall to Draco’s shoulder. “Fuck, are you sure?”

“ _ God _ , yeah. Want it so badly.” Draco said these words directly into Harry’s ear, and Harry had to stop moving his hand to avoid coming. He pulled away from Draco’s cock, eliciting a whimper from Draco, and squeezed the base of his own prick, taking deep breaths.

He sat up on his knees and took a moment to just look at Draco now that all his skin was exposed. Draco looked unsure of himself, but allowed the study, meeting Harry’s gaze with a hint of that old challenge in his eyes. Draco was tall, but not lanky--he’d filled out a little since school, squaring off some of the points of his childhood. His skin looked like ivory in the light from the window, and Harry had to run a hand down Draco’s torso to remind himself that he wasn’t a statue. Draco shivered and smiled. 

Harry felt something then, a swooping twist right inside his chest. He’d never seen such a smile in his life, easy and sweet and full of something Harry couldn’t name. He wanted to see it more. He wanted to be the reason for it. 

Draco reached up and pulled Harry down to him. “Stop looking and kiss me, Potter.”

“If I’m calling you Draco, you should call me Harry.” Harry worried he might fall into Draco’s eyes, the same way he felt bending over a pensieve. He grabbed a fistful of the sheets to ground himself. 

“Fine, then. Stop looking and  _ fuck me _ , Har--” Draco’s words were cut off abruptly as Harry took his lips, perhaps a little too roughly, but Harry didn’t care. He could no longer stop himself. He wanted to--to  _ absorb _ Draco, to wrap himself around this new feeling and just  _ become _ it. Draco didn’t seem to mind the tone of the kiss, pushing both hands into Harry’s hair again, pulling himself closer. 

One slender leg wrapped around Harry’s thigh and Harry groaned. He reached down, taking a second to palm Draco’s cock just to feel the moan Draco breathed into Harry’s mouth, before continuing further down and brushing a finger over Draco’s hole.

Draco broke off the kiss, moving his face to one side and gasping. “Yes, god, yes--I have lube in the drawer over-- _ oh, fuck _ \--” Harry had conjured lube into his hand and was now circling Draco’s furled hole gently, but firmly, waiting for Draco to give way to him. He pressed a finger inside, slowly, but Draco pushed his hips down, whispering, “ _ More _ ,” so Harry slid a second finger in beside the first and curled them until he found the spot he was looking for. Draco cried out, grabbing Harry’s shoulder so hard it would bruise, rocking against Harry’s hand.

Harry pumped his fingers, slowly at first but then steadily faster, just grazing Draco’s prostate every other thrust, until Draco took hold of his arm and tugged. “Stop--want you in-- _ fuck _ , Harry,  _ please _ \--” Draco moaned. He looked completely wrecked. His chest heaved with shaking breaths and he pulled one knee up to his chest, opening himself up. His flushed cock was so hard it looked painful, dripping precome onto his stomach.

Harry felt that strange twinge again. He grasped his cock and leaned over Draco, stealing a kiss as he conjured more lube and coated himself in it. He watched Draco’s face as he pressed himself in, forcing himself to go slow--he knew he hadn’t stretched him enough, but he couldn’t wait anymore, not with Draco  _ begging _ him. Once the head was in, he stopped, taking slow breaths, praying he didn’t come immediately. Draco was biting his lip, his eyes closed. Harry counted three breaths until Draco nodded, eyes still shut, and canted his hips up to take more of Harry. 

_ Go slow _ became Harry’s inner mantra. He pushed himself in just an inch more, pulled out almost all the way, then back in a few more inches. Draco was mumbling something that sounded like  _ fuck, Harry, fuckfuckfuck _ and Harry had to stop watching him. He rested his forehead against Draco’s sternum, both of them slick with sweat, and kept pushing until his hips were snug against Draco. He stayed there for a moment, giving Draco time to adjust, and lathed his tongue over one of Draco’s nipples. He tasted good, and smelled good, like citrus and sweat and something distinctly Draco.

Draco began to move his hips. Harry pulled out slowly and then in, again and again until he hit Draco’s sweet spot and Draco cried out so hard Harry was worried he’d hurt him and stopped moving. 

“Don’t stop, fuck. Keep going,” Draco moaned, and so Harry did, aiming as well as he could for the same spot. He found it, judging by Draco’s breathy cries, and the now-constant stream of “Yes, god, yes, there,  _ please _ , fuck, there,” coming from his sweet, bruised lips. Harry kissed him then, needing to taste him, and wrapped a hand around Draco’s leaking cock. Draco’s words become nonsensical, just long vowels between staccato consonants, as Harry quickened his thrusts in time with stroking Draco’s cock between them. 

Harry had never been so completely present, so in his body, during sex. This was like nothing he’d felt before and he didn’t know what to do with that so he pushed it away, allowing the sounds of bodies and moans to overwhelm him. His thrusts became erratic and he knew he was getting closer. “I’m going to--” he began, but before he could finish Draco cried out again and came over Harry’s fist. Seeing those unfocused grey eyes, the purpling bruise on Draco’s neck, Harry buried himself in Draco and came harder than he thought he could. His come-sticky fingers found their way to Draco’s hand and they laced themselves together as Harry shuddered and relaxed. He turned his head to look at their hands together and he could hear Draco’s heart beating. 

They lay there together for what felt like hours before Harry recovered enough to pull his softening cock from Draco--Draco hummed softly--and shifted so he was laying next to Draco, head still resting on his chest. He whispered a cleaning charm and ran a finger down the center of Draco’s stomach, relishing the feeling of the soft hair he found there. Draco sucked in a breath and shivered. Harry smiled against his skin.

“Where did you learn wandless magic?” Draco asked softly, taking hold of Harry’s hand again.

Harry shrugged. “Taught myself some in seventh year while I didn’t have a working wand. Basic stuff,  _ accio _ and that. Then it just became a challenge, to see what I could do.”

“A challenge,” Draco said, chuckling. “Potter, you are something else.”

“What happened to Harry?”

“Hmm, yes. I guess since you’ve fucked me, and rather well at that, I can call you Harry.” Draco’s arm came around his shoulders and pulled him closer. Harry felt so safe, so close, that it was difficult not to pull away. “You do know that most wizards can’t do magic without a wand? Not controlled, anyway.”

Harry stiffened a little and shrugged again. He was glad he couldn’t see Draco’s face. “So? It’s not a big deal, I don’t usually do it in front of other people.”

Draco rubbed his back lightly, soothingly, and Harry wondered how Draco knew just what to do to make him feel better. He relaxed again. They were quiet together, warm in Draco’s bed. Harry felt his eyelids begin to droop.

“If you want me to go, I should do it soon. I’m about to fall asleep,” he said, letting his eyes close.

Draco pulled a blanket from the pile next to them and settled it over them. “You don’t have to go. Stay the night.”

Harry didn’t respond, but nodded. He could evaluate all this tomorrow; for tonight, he would stay here, in this moment, and savour it. He felt sated and comfortable and safe. That’s all he needed. He listened to Draco’s breathing until his mind started to drift into dreams.

\- - - - -

The next morning, Harry woke first. He was curled behind Draco, wrapped around him, and was loathe to move, but heard his wand alarm going off and knew he had to turn it off before it started producing smoke. 

He got up gingerly, tucking the blanket behind Draco protectively, and fumbled in his jeans at the foot of the bed until he found his wand. It went silent. He cast a  _ tempus _ and saw he had just over 30 minutes to get to the office. He would have enough time to get home for a (very) quick shower and shave. He pulled his jeans on, choosing to stuff his pants into the pocket rather than put them back on, and went in search of his shirt and jacket. He took a minute to clean up the fish and chips all over the rug and folded Draco’s cardigan as best he could, delivering it to the bedroom. 

Sitting delicately on the bed next to Draco’s sleeping form, he thought for a second how lovely Draco looked, lips still swollen from their kisses, face peaceful. He brushed a bit of hair from Draco’s face and he stirred just a little, eyelids fluttering open. That same smile snuck onto his face and Harry wished he could stay in bed here all day, making Draco smile over and over again. 

He bent low and kissed Draco’s cheek. “I have to go to work. I’m running a bit late.” 

“Mm, okay,” Draco replied, closing his eyes again and snuggling into the duvet. 

Harry resisted the urge to nest in with him. “I’ll call you, okay?” 

Draco smiled just a bit, halfway back to sleep. Harry took one more second to watch him before he rose and left.

\- - - - -

Harry made it to work just four minutes late, which wasn’t actually bad for him on a normal day. He’d had time to heal the love bites after he shaved and even wore clean robes. He felt good, strong and happy and comfortable, as he walked into the Auror office.

The office was already buzzing with activity, memos zooming around and mobiles ringing and people talking. Harry wandered to his desk to check his messages. On top was a note from the Head Auror, Gawain Robards. It wasn’t unusual to get memos from Robards about the dress code or meeting reminders. It was, however, unusual to get a handwritten note reading simply:  **See me when you’re in.**

Harry tried to swallow his worries. This was probably a review of the assessment he’d had yesterday. Maybe he’d even be back in the field today. As far as he knew, he hadn’t done anything especially wrong lately--certainly nothing to merit a talking-to from the Head Auror. 

Choosing to skip his morning cuppa, Harry walked briskly to Robard’s office at the end of the hallway. The door was closed. Harry wondered if he should knock or just come back later, but the door opened on its own. 

Robards was at his desk. Seated before him were Kingsley Shacklebolt and Terence Higgs, the Ministry therapist Harry had seen yesterday. None of them were smiling.

“Take a seat, Potter,” Robards said, conjuring another chair beside his desk. 

Harry sat, anxiety creeping into his thoughts. “How are you, sir?” he asked Kingsley. Kingsley nodded, smiling tightly, and looked back at Robards. 

Robards sighed. “We’ve just been reviewing your assessment results with Dr. Higgs, who has also been kind enough to summarize past assessments you’ve undergone.” Robards gestured at a closed folder on his desk, neatly labeled  _ H. Potter _ . Harry itched to look inside and see what the papers said, but he kept his hands still. “Potter, when you began training, you were required to undergo counseling, yes?”

Harry nodded. He’d had ten sessions with a therapist, a no-nonsense witch named Olenna Caldwell who had diagnosed him with PTSD and made him start a journal. Harry, eager to start Auror training, had complied with her orders and told her about his nightmares, his feelings about his parents, his worries about his new Voldemort-less identity. The strict confidentiality clause and her lack of visible pity for him helped him feel secure enough to divulge things he’d never told anyone. In fact, it was while talking to Olenna that he’d realized his attraction to men wasn’t entirely admiration-based. He still kept a journal next to his bed for those time he couldn’t find the words to talk.

Robards sighed again. “We don’t make everyone go to counseling, Potter. You failed the mental health screening when you applied to be an Auror. It was our hope, at the time, that counseling would help you.”

Harry was shocked. He’d failed? “It did help, sir. The sessions. It helped a lot--”

“I’m glad, Potter. Your counselor submitted a report to us indicating as much. We admitted you into training on her recommendation, and you’ve done well. Very well,” Robards said. He looked Harry in the eye. “It’s department policy that Aurors involved in near-death experiences undergo an assessment before they come back into the field.”

Harry nodded, looking at the other men for a clue as to what was happening. He’d done a number of assessments, done the required counseling. It was all part of being an Auror, he thought.

Robards continued. “The average Auror, in the entire of their career, has less than two near-death experiences, Potter. Less than two. You have had…” Robards opened the folder and looked at the first page. “You have had eight. In five years in the field, you have been close to death eight times.” 

A sense of familiar, icy panic began to sneak into Harry’s stomach. He knew he was breathing too hard and tried to slow down. He didn’t know what to say, so he stayed quiet.

Robards looked at Higgs, the therapist. “Dr. Higgs, could you summarize your opinion from Potter’s last session with you?”

Dr. Higgs cleared his throat. “Certainly. Mr. Potter presents with an interesting paradox of symptoms. It seems he relies heavily on others to define his identity and struggles with emotionally reciprocative relationships. Mr. Potter seemingly has low self-esteem and little sense of self-worth outside of his ability to help other people.”

Harry felt the hot prickle of tears in his eyes and blinked them away, hard. He shook his head. “I don’t understand--”

Robards interrupted him. “And, Dr. Higgs, what is your opinion on Potter’s actions as an Auror?”

Dr. Higgs hesitated, briefly, looking at Harry and then back at Robards. “From the incident reports participating his assessments, the counseling team has gathered that Mr. Potter contrives situations which require him to... _ save _ someone, often at the expense of his own safety.”

Robards nodded, once, putting his head in his hand. “We have other reports that support that opinion. Thank you, Higgs. You can go.”

There was silence as Higgs left the office. Harry looked at his hands, trying to repress the anger he could feel swelling in his chest.  _ Contrives situations which require-- _ ?

“Harry,” Kingsley said, and Harry looked at the Minister. Kingsley’s eyes were soft and sad. “The life you have lived, the things you have had to do-- This is not your fault. We pushed you into becoming an Auror without regard for your needs.”

Harry shook his head. “I love being an Auror, I-- I swear, I’ll be more careful, I won’t--”  _ Contrive _ , that nasty inner voice whispered. 

Kingsley placed a warm hand over Harry’s. “Unfortunately, Harry, we can’t risk it. We have come up with a solution, but I need you to listen.”

He realized he was shaking slightly, and saw that the pens on Robard’s desk had started to spin on their own. He closed his eyes, like Olenna had taught him, and took two slow breaths.  _ One _ , he thought.  _ Two. I’m okay. _ He opened his eyes and nodded. “I’m listening.”

Kingsley nodded at Robards, who sat up straight again. “Potter, there’s no denying that you are respected in this department, and not because of what you did as a child. You’re clever and strong. You understand magic better than most people do. You taught defense to other students when you were a student yourself, and your passion makes people listen.

“Since I took this office, I’ve been running the training program on my own, pulling Aurors off duty to instruct new recruits. You went through it; it’s a mess.” Robards eyed Kingsley. “Obviously we get all the trainees up to snuff, but I just don’t have the time to make this a fully-fledged program. That’s where you come in.”

Harry frowned. “You want me to… To train?” The words sounded sour in his mouth. After everything, all the training and work, they were pulling him out of the field to teach how to cast a Patronus?

“Yes and no. To begin with, yes, you’ll be doing most of the teaching. But I need our recruitment to step up. I need a real training program, with goals and timelines and courses. We’ll need permanent instructors. A curriculum.” Robards looked at Harry. “I know it’s a lot. I’ll help you, the first year, to get started. I have contacts in America and Germany who set up a similar program a few years ago. We can pull them in for consultation.” 

Harry looked from Robards to Kingsley and back, unsure what to do. This wasn’t what he signed up for, what he had dreamed of all those years ago. But if he said no--where would he go? He had no experience, no training, other than to fight. And, he supposed, to teach others to fight. 

Robards seemed to understand his thoughts. “I’ll give you a few days to think about it. Of course you’ll need time to consider. But, Potter, know this: We didn’t come up with this as a temporary solution. The Minister and I are in agreement that you could be good in this position, that you could make real change to the way we do things. I can’t put you back in the field, Potter, but it’s not because I don’t think you’re good enough. I think you’re one of the most powerful wizards I’ve ever encountered, and I want you to be the one to teach each and every new recruit.”

Harry, now brimming with confusion and anxiety, whispered, “Thank you, sir.”

Robards was quiet for a moment, then wrapped his knuckles on the desk. “Just think about it, Potter. Take a few days. Finish the paperwork you’ve got on now, I know you’ve got it piled up on your desk, I saw this morning. Come back when you’ve decided.”

Kingsley stood first, clapped a hand on Harry’s shoulder, and left. Harry followed. He made his way back to his desk, feeling a little disconnected from his body. 

His dream of being an Auror was over. Everything he’d worked for--six fucking years of Potions class, he thought wryly--down the drain because of his… How had Hermione put it, all those years ago? His  _ saving people thing _ .

He collapsed on his chair, pulling the top folder of the stack and opening it to a random page. He would finish the paperwork, as Robards asked, and think about the new job. He’d talk to Ron and Hermione about it, without mentioning the  _ contriving situations _ part, maybe slating it as a promotion. He tried to picture himself away from the field, away from the excitement of the chase and the duel, and a lump formed in his throat. He would take the job, of course he would--he had no other option, did he? 

He glared down at the file in his hands, then flipped to the first page and started filling out forms. He spent the rest of the day that way, in a fog of thought and flurry of paperwork. That night, he left the Ministry and went home and reheated leftover soup from days ago, still lost in thought as he ate dinner and watched some television. Though it was Friday, he took a draught of Sleepless Dream and went to bed early. He didn’t want to think anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that was my first time ever writing smut, so ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ there goes nothing.
> 
> Constructive comments are welcome! Thank you so much for the support so far. Totally overwhelmed!
> 
> Find me on tumblr at primavera-cerezos :)


End file.
